Six Weeks
by Onyx Moonbeam
Summary: Story Complete. Dean breaks his collarbone. Crap, it would be a long six weeks of dealing with Dean in recovery.
1. Chapter 1

Expanded from my drabble Ashen, included here. Thanks to Enkidu07 for the awesome beta, any errors are mine. I've completed the story, finishing final edits on Chapter 2 – Six Weeks of Recovery, which will be posted early next week.

Thanks Kripke for the awesome world, it remains yours.

Reviews are second only to being stuck with Dean in a small motel room for six weeks.

--

CRACK. The collarbone broke beneath the demon's boot.

Luckily she, _it, _was distracted. Sam completed the exorcism before the next stomp fell on his brother's face.

"Dude, about time," Sweat glistened on Dean's face as he attempted vertical.

Sam moved in, grasping Dean's bicep, hoisted him up.

"Bitch hurt my shoulder, not my legs." Sam backed off on cue from a lifetime of studying Dean's boundaries.

Dean stumbled, face ashen. He was headed for a nosedive as Sam's arm came under his good shoulder, supporting him.

_Crap, it would be a long six weeks of dealing with Dean in recovery._

--

Sam shuffled his wounded brother around the empty body of the demon. The woman was clearly dead, wounds from her time with the demon showing up as soon as the exorcism had been completed. One more lost. He'd have to come back for cleanup.

After a long trip out of the abandoned orphanage, filled with harshly drawn breaths and grimaces, but no complaints, they arrived at the Impala. Sam leaned Dean against the passenger rear door. Dean didn't resist or mock Sam when he reached into Dean's leather jacket for the keys. That spoke volumes about the level of his pain.

After unlocking the car and carefully settling Dean into the seat, Sam hurried around to the trunk, grabbing a threadbare, but clean, towel. After sliding into the drivers' side, Sam turned to face Dean.

"You'll need a sling, or the car ride is going to kill on these back country roads."

"Not literally, I hope," Dean was graying as the words came out low.

"Ready?"

"Do it," Sam slid the towel under Dean's left arm, holding it against his ribs. He tied a sturdy square know over Dean's right shoulder, careful to keep jostling to a minimum.

Dean let out a shaky breath, face ashen. Sam started the car, eased out of the dirt driveway and started navigating the West Virginian back roads towards Route 19. When Sam put his left blinker on at the junction Dean startled awake. Trust him to notice this part of the ride.

"Motel's to the right. Did that somehow escape that steel trap of yours?"

Sam pulled the car out, to the left, and went two miles in suspended silence before he finally let out, "Yeah, but the Harrison County hospital is this way."

Dean came to attention, "What the fuck, Sam? I'm good for the motel."

"She broke it, Dean. I know it's your left, but we're not risking your arm. We'll get it set and head out ASAP." Sam's tone broke no argument, but he shifted his eyes over to Dean's face, hoping not to have to fight it out. He'd win, but it would sap Dean's strength. They both needed to be strong for hospitals.

--

It wasn't much further before they pulled up in front of the hospital. Sam got Dean settled into the triage waiting room before heading out to park the Impala. Dean was checking in with the nurse by the time Sam got back. Dean handed the nurse an insurance card for Bob Zimmerman.

"Subtle, man," Sam whispered under his breath. Apparently Dean's grin distracted the woman enough so that she didn't ask any questions.

"Okay, it looks like this is in order. Come on back, Bob."

"I actually go by Dylan." Sam's look of incredulity made it worth the comment. Hunting had never been this much fun without his brother. Okay, the collarbone wasn't fun, but it was nice to be joking around again, especially at his brother's expense. He still laughed over the "Bikini Inspector" badge he'd forced on Sam.

"This way then, Dylan." Dean followed the nurse through the doorway and into an examining room, Sam close behind. "A doctor will be with you shortly, make yourselves comfortable."

"Thanks," Dean looked down at her name badge, "Cecilia." The nurse closed the door behind herself with a smile.

"Bob freakin' Dylan? What the fuck Dean?"

Dean considered the examining table; it would be too awkward to hoist himself up. He sat on the only chair, leaving Sam to pace restlessly. Dean leaned his head back against the hospital white wall and closed his eyes, measured his breathing to Sam's paces.

Sam would only get in two of his long strides before he had to pivot. After 20 minutes, Sam abruptly stopped. Dean lost his concentration, grunted in pain.

"Be right back."

Dean could hear Sam imploring the desk nurse about the location of the doctor. After the standard brush off it became apparent that Sam wasn't letting it go. Strange reversal to hear his brother be so protective of him. However, when Sam walked back in a minute later with the doctor, Dean found he didn't mind so much.

"I hear you've hurt your collarbone. I'm Dr. Jones."

Sam jumped in, always better to let him deal with the sincere variety, and the graying doctor was lapping it up. "Yeah, we were just practicing a little baseball. Dean was pitching and the ball came right back at him. I feel just awful."

"Well, we should be able to set this. Let me get an x-ray and we'll go from there." Dr. Jones leaned his head out the door, "Cecilia, can you grab a wheelchair and schedule an appointment with radiology?"

"No wheelchair, I'm good."

"Right, _Dylan_, you're good." Sam rolled his eyes. "We'll use the chair."

"Said, I'm good," Dean answered as Cecilia rolled the wheelchair into the room.

"Okay, walk to the chair. If you can make it you don't have to use it."

Dean pushed off the armrest with his right arm, and shakily moved his left leg forwards into a step. When his body kept moving, Sam had to wrap his arms about Dean's waist to prevent him from falling straight onto his hurt side.

"Right then, chair." Sam eased Dean into the wheelchair and started pushing him out into the hallway. When Cecilia held her hands out to take over Dean heard Sam's "I've got him."

Weird how reassuring that was. Somehow not as bad that he wasn't in control if he was just handing it off to Sam.

--

After an x-ray showed a clean break in Dean's left collarbone they transferred him onto an exam bed, gave him two Vicodin, and prepared to set his shoulder.

"This is going to hurt."

"Thanks Doc. Nice bedside manner, definitely feel better."

Dr. Jones smiled at Dean's sarcasm, "Well good, you didn't seem the type to believe the standard lie. Are you sure about the painkillers?"

"I'm sure." Dean had refused anything that would knock him out. He'd insisted to Sam that he had to get out of the hospital as soon as they were done. They both knew that they would never release Dean if he was unconscious, and it was easier not to sneak him out. So no anesthesia.

The doctor moved into position over Dean. Cecilia held his chest in place.

"You may want to hold onto something."

Sam clasped Dean's hand, right palm to right palm, and held tight. "One, two, three." As the bone shifted back into place Dean bellowed a string of not quite comprehensible words. Sam caught "demon bitch" among the expletives. Hopefully it would just pass as colorful language.

Dean eased back onto the table as they wrapped his arm close to his chest, stabilizing it. Trust him to stay awake during the whole thing. Any normal person would have passed out by now. Too stubborn for his own good.

Sam kept holding onto Dean, squeezed his hand. Cecilia began explaining to Sam how the healing and rehab would work. He kept studious mental notes:

6-8 week recovery

After one week, try an arm sling

Work on range of motion as pain allows

Most important, or worrisome 'cause this was _Dean_, if you went too fast and used the arm before full recovery, there could be permanent injury.

Small motel rooms, limited physical exercise, no hunting. Yeah, he could totally handle Dean. No problem. Sam let out an audible mocking laugh as Cecilia looked at him with confusion.

"Oh, don't worry ma'am. I'll make sure Dylan takes care of himself and sees his personal doctor to schedule rehab and for checkups. Thank you so much. Do you know when we might be able to check out?"

"That shouldn't be a problem. We'll just need some more personal information and the doctor will get you a prescription for painkillers. Right this way."

Sam looked over to confirm that Dean was okay. After a moment of holding his gaze, Sam broke his grip on his brother and slipped out the doorway after Cecilia to get them on the road.

--

Sam settled Dean onto the motel bed. They'd traveled two hours west. Far enough to avoid immediate concern over the faulty insurance and stolen credit card.

"Dean, are you with me? Dean. Wake up." Sam lightly tapped Dean's cheek.

"Yeah man," Dean fell back into sleep, at the next tap his eyes jerked open. "What?"

"I have to go take care of the girl, clean up our fingerprints. I'll be gone awhile." Sam set a glass of water on the nightstand, handed another to Dean. "Here's another Vicodin, drink the whole glass of water. Here's a trashcan if you need to puke. My cell is next to the bed, just hold down to call button if you need me. If you wake up drink the other glass of water. Don't leave the room."

"Nnngh, 'kay."

"Repeat it back, Dean."

"You leavin', y'll be back. Puke in can. Drink water. Call you. Where's my knife?"

"Under your pillow. I set the alarm. If it rings and you haven't heard from me, I'm not back yet, call Bobby."

"Check. Alarm. Bobby. I'm good Sammy." Dean rolled to his right side, protecting his shoulder, grasped the knife in his good hand, and promptly fell asleep.

--

Sam pushed the Impala to its limits on the drive back into West Virginia. Vicodin shouldn't knock Dean too far out, but he didn't like leaving his brother alone incapacitated.

The orphanage was nestled on a run down road near the outskirts of town. They had come to investigate several deaths of small children lulled into the old building. The kids had run around the playground and hallways until they had died from exhaustion.

Apparently the children at the orphanage had been left alone when the caretaker had died. They had been unable to leave, locked in their rooms, and died onsite of dehydration. Their spirits called nearby children for playmates and wouldn't let them go.

It had seemed a routine salt and burn, until the demon showed up. Apparently Meg had made friends in hell, and one crawled out to stop in on the Winchesters.

Luckily no one had discovered the body yet. Sam wrapped her in plastic and moved her to the grave he'd dug around back.

He always felt regret at the nameless, wasted bodies demons left behind. No identification. No one to explain the loss to. And what could he possibly say to them if he found her family. One more missing persons.

Sam did a quick run through for fingerprints and bullet shells, wiped up a bit of blood from a flesh wound to his forearm. There might be something left behind, but he was in a hurry to get back, and no one had any reason to come looking. Let alone a reason to come looking for two Winchester brothers who had no cause to be here. Still, after St. Louis, better to be careful.

--

Sam was halfway back when his cell phone rang, "Dean?"

"Woke up. I drank the water. I'm good. You?"

"On my way back. I should be there in an hour."

"OK, just makin' sure you weren't endangering my baby driving too fast."

Sam huffed. Right, Dean was worried about his _car._ Okay, maybe Dean was a little worried about his car, but he'd called so Sam wouldn't worry.

"I'll take care of it."

"Her, Sammy. Take care of _her._"

"Right, her. Go back to sleep."

"G'night." The cell phone cut off. Sam eased up on the gas a bit, bringing it down to within fifteen of the speed limit.

--End Chapter One of Two--


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to Enkidu07 for the awesome beta.

Thanks Kripke for the awesome world, it remains yours.

Reviews are second only to being stuck with Dean in a small motel room for six weeks.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Chapter Two of Two

**Week One**

Dean woke to the purr of the Impala parking in front of the room. Out of muscle memory his body tensed and hand closed tighter around the knife under his pillow as there was movement outside the room.

His body went lax as Sam appeared in the doorway.

"How're you doin'?" Sam settled his massive hand on Dean's forehead. He absentmindedly swatted at it, but let Sam do his recon before he twisted away.

"I'm good. Painkillers are still working. Could really use a shower though."

"Why don't we wait until tomorrow for that? How about some chicken noodle soup and a dinner roll?" Sam held up the paper bag he'd carried in.

"Sick food, Sam? I hurt my shoulder, I feel fine. How about a cheeseburger." Dean reached for the bag anyway, 'cause it _was_ food.

"Vicodin's harsh on your stomach. Bland food this week."

Right, he'd have Sam worn down in three days.

After eating Dean settled back into sleep. He knew he'd be itchy to get moving soon, but right now bed felt like heaven.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Two days later Dean finally won the shower argument.

"If you don't get out of my way, so help you God, I will go through you." He was alert enough that Sam judged the glint in his eye as real danger. Even with Dean weakened, Sam wouldn't want to go up against his brother.

"Okay, but a bath, not shower, so you can keep the sling on."

"No way, man."

"That or a sponge bath, Dean. You're not re-injuring your shoulder."

"Fine, a freakin' bath."

"Promise."

"God Sam…" Dean tried to step past Sam into the bathroom. Sam shifted in front of him. "Fine, I promise."

Sam followed Dean into the small bathroom, edging his sneaker into the door when Dean tried to close it behind him.

"Dude, I can take a bath by myself. I said I promise."

"OK, but you'll need help with the shirt."

"I think I can get it. I'm a big boy."

"Wasn't asking what you think," Sam moved behind Dean. They'd strapped his arm against his chest and put the shirt over it, it would still hurt to try to maneuver out of it with only one arm.

After carefully extracting his big brother from the soft cotton Sam moved to leave, "Don't lock it, I'll break it down."

"I'll be fine Sam."

"If you slip, don't try to get up. Call me."

"Right. I'm not calling you for help."

"Otherwise I'm staying to make sure you get in okay."

"My God Sam. Fine, I'll call you if I fall. Sick freak."

"Right, not wanting my brother to fall and hit his head, or _really_ hurt his shoulder, that makes me a sick freak. Your priorities are so skewed Dean."

"Nothin' wrong with my priorities. They include you _never_ seeing me in a bath. That makes me _normal_." Dean pushed the door closed, didn't lock it. He let Sam hear him mutter under his breath, "Bath my ass. Never been in a bath by myself before."

Sam waited by the door until he heard Dean successfully settle in.

**Week Two**

They'd shifted Dean's arm to the new sling. While the other had wrapped Dean's arm completely to his chest, this was mildly less restrictive.

The arm sling was held in place by two shoulder straps, one for each shoulder, which crossed in the back. The whole contraption was pinned against his body by a Velcro band encircling his torso.

It didn't add much flexibility of movement, but it did let Dean wear t-shirts under the sling. He'd even been able to get his shirt on without having to ask for help.

After five days of easily pulled up pajamas and sweat pants Dean had taken a pair or jeans into the bathroom and emerged after fifteen minutes. He'd been struggling into them every day since.

While Sam had no qualms about forcing his help with the sling on his brother, he knew that his help wouldn't be accepted with getting dressed. Fifteen minutes of struggle was well worth it to his brother to not have to ask for, or even accept, help.

This was altogether different. It was the middle of the second week and boredom was really setting in. Sam had agreed to head out with Dean to a movie rental shop and for some take-out. This meant shoes.

Socks had been fine in the motel and for the car ride out of Ohio into Indiana. They'd headed out at the end of the first week after they read a small town paper article from West Virginia about an insurance fraud investigation.

But for this Dean needed shoes, which pretty much left his boots. Which had laces.

Sam watched his brother, boots slipped on, struggling to tie his shoelaces with just his right hand. Dean never looked up. Completely avoiding eye contact. He'd managed to thread one lace through the other to cross them, but couldn't pull it tight. He was having an even harder time creating the loops to tie together.

After ten minutes of this, but not one sound of discouragement or look up from Dean, Sam stood and walked over to his brother.

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

_Shit,_ he really needed another hand. Maybe if he held one lace down with his left foot and used his good hand to tie – crap! Dean closed his eyes, careful not to move his head. If only he'd done this in the bathroom he could tell Sam he was too tired to go out. Since he was in the bedroom, Sam would _know._

Not that he'd judge, but still. Dean just couldn't let Sam see him give up.

As Dean again tried to tie his laces Sam moved quickly over him and knelt at his feet, head down. Sam took the laces from his fingers and quickly tied them in a sturdy double knot before moving on to his left boot.

Sam's head was bent down in single-minded concentration. Even while Dean knew this was for his benefit, he appreciated it.

No one had tied his shoes since Mom.

As Sam finished both of his laces Dean looked down at his head. Thank God for Sam. He knew he had weird quirks, walls, he wished he could give Sam the 'sharing' his brother clearly needed. It just wasn't in him. If he opened up, what if he never closed?

But now, when Dean was the one hurt, here was his brother. Working so hard to help him and preserve his precious boundaries. Weird how easy it was to mock them in his head, but how hard to let them down, even for Sam.

As Sam stood he braced his hand on Dean's right knee to push up. Dean reached out fast with his right arm and, before he could stop himself, laid his hand on top of Sam's.

Sam's eyes darted to his face. Confusion gave way to the look that Dean always equated with their awkward 'meaningful' moments. Usually after one of them almost died.

Luckily Sam just squeezed his knee before straightening fully and moving towards the door. He turned his head as he snatched up the Impala's keys.

"So, Die Hard?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Careful Dean." It was Sam's freakin' mantra. Dean had been good the first week. High on Vicodin, still sleepy, all movements had hurt. Now that he'd transitioned to a traditional sling and stepped down to Tylenol, Dean was ready to go. At least mentally.

"They're sit-ups Sam, not pushups. I'll be fine."

"It can't be splinted, so they want you to be careful with it. That means no jerking it."

Dean did fifteen more before caving in. Sam's badgering gave him a good excuse. He was dead tired after only 10 sit-ups. Pathetic. He'd hurt his _arm._ He'd been shot in places that it didn't take this long to heal.

Sam kept talking about white blood cells and swelling. Apparently four more weeks to go before little brother would let him use the arm. Then rehab. They'd worked through rehab before, but only when Sam was hurt. Or when Dad had been around. Sam had never been in charge before.

He redefined even Dad's idea of stubborn.

**Week Three**

"You said 'Go for a walk' Dean, WALK. Not jog, not run, not even a fast skip. You can walk, you can't jar your arm!"

**Week Four**

"Fuck, Sam. You're the one who told me not to move it." Dean tried to inch away.

"No, I told you not to use it. We have to move it. I know it hurts, but if you don't do the rehab therapy, you won't get full range of motion back." As Sam spoke in a soothing tone he slowly restarted the rotation of Dean's left arm. First extending it completely, painful because it had been in a sling almost continually for four weeks.

As soon as the arm was extended, Sam braced his right had on the back of Dean's shoulder. He began with small movements of the entire arm socket. Sam could feel Dean's muscles move under the soft white t-shirt.

The rotation caused ripples, but the muscles would occasionally bunch in pain. It was only the worst of these moments that Dean groaned aloud.

After fifteen minutes of manipulating Dean's shoulder, Sam put the arm back in the sling.

"Here's two ibuprofen. They'll help with the pain and swelling."

"I know what Advil does, Sam." Dean dry swallowed the pills. "I'm going for a short run."

Dean hurried out of the room before Sam could dissent.

**Week Five**

"Yeah, it seems like a case for us Dean, but you're not ready yet."

"Dude, I'm fine."

Sam ignored the comment, "Why don't you start the research and we'll see about heading out next week?"

"You're the research princess, Sammy."

"You're not hunting for at least another month, so if you want to help…"

"I'm good. My arm is fine."

"You whimper when you roll over at night."

_Damn._ He hadn't thought Sam heard that. Stupid double room. Too bad he could never get any sleep in a single.

If he was awake and knew it was going to hurt, Dean could suppress it. At night it took him by surprise.

"Fine, _we'll_ do the research, then head out next week. By then it'll be six weeks."

"You can start using it after six weeks. Not go running into hand to hand combat with a banshee."

"Fine, I'll be backup."

"Your backup always includes jumping in between me and the banshee. You can do pushups, basketball. They said 'normal use' Dean."

"Fighting a banshee _is_ normal."

"Right, I'm sure that's what they meant."

"Okay, okay. Research, then we'll see."

Dean watched Sam roll his eyes, but his brother just opened his library book and started reading. They'd see about next week.

**Week Six**

They rolled into the motel late, Sam parked the Impala by the office and was only a step behind Dean strolling into the dark musky office. The graying man was wearing a stained muscle tee. Sam was about to ask for a room when he caught a sniff of the man's breath, whisky, this would be one for Dean to take.

Sam shuffled back a step and Dean moved into the space of the counter, resting an elbow on the pock marked wood.

"We need two twins."

"Right," the man smirked, raised his eyebrows. "We've got a king bed, same price."

"We'll take two twins," Dean leaned forward one step, stared straight at the man. This was usually when the guy at the counter backed down and stopped with the lurid glance. This guy had apparently had one to many to discern that the man in front of him was not a lightweight.

"We don't judge here, take the king. Enjoy yourselves," The man looked them both up and down and licked his lower lip. _Ewww_.

Dean leaned further towards the man, into his personal space, laid one of his credit cards on the counter and spoke loud and clear, "My _brother_ and I will take two twin beds."

oooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean dropped his duffle on the bed by the door. He'd take the role of the protector, even if only metaphorically.

It was his first day completely post sling and his arm was exhausted. They'd been doing exercises three times a day to strengthen it, but continual lack of use had left him weak. Not a word that usually applied.

Sam was just beginning to let him do any real weight bearing on it. And it hadn't been worth it to try to get around Sam. Besides the fact that his arm has felt unbelievable worse for four days after, his midnight trip to the gym last week has incurred the continued Wrath of Sam.

He hadn't known that it could get worse, but afterwards stubborn nagging Sam had given way to a quieter more solemn version. After three hours of complete silence Dean had attempted some levity.

"Dude, it's just a bench press. Not even an impressive one. I sucked…"

Sam didn't even look up, continued sharpening his knives.

"Okay Sammy, you're gonna have to say something."

At this Sam has spun around and exploded. "What do you want me to say, Dean? After five weeks of hell and hard work you're intent on fucking up your arm, your _life._ You think I'm the bad guy here. Keeping you from your life. That I'm some _parent_ you sneak out on in the middle of the night.

"Fine, you don't want my help, I get that, it's obvious. Maybe I shouldn't let it get to me, but I can't sit by and watch you fuck up the rest of your life because you can't stand authority. Even if you don't care, I give a shit about you Dean, and I can't watch you hurt yourself."

Sam grabbed his jacket, an ankle knife and his handgun from the table in front of him. He stood, taking the keys out of his front pocket and throwing them on the small table by the door.

"Sammy…" Dean called as his brother quietly shut the motel door behind him.

Dean pushed the door open and watched Sam walk across the parking lot towards town.

"Sam!"

There was a slight turn of Sam's head at the yell, but he kept straight forward. Dean jogged towards him, "Sam."

Sam turned, eyes all empty and lost, like they'd been for so long last year. After Jess. Fuck, he'd put that expression there. Couldn't even blame the demon for it.

"Dean. I really can't watch you hurt yourself. I'll be back in awhile."

"Awhile, like a few hours?"

"Maybe you should stay with Bobby for a few weeks. I'll meet you there later."

"A few weeks, no dude. It's okay, I'll let up. I know it's important, seriously, I'll do better."

"Dean, I can't ask you to change who you are. I just can't watch you self destruct."

Dean moved into Sam's body, barely noticing the rain begin to fall around them. His right hand came up in a move of surrender, or pledge, before clasping onto his brother's shoulder.

"I promise."

The fact that those words didn't immediately erase the indecision on Sam's face told Dean how far his brother had been pushed. Fuck, he'd screwed this up.

"I can do this Sam, but I need you. It'll be better. I promise." Dean looked straight into Sam's eyes as his spoke,

The tension rushed out of Sam as his head went lax, falling towards his chest. At that moment the skies opened and began to drench them both.

Dean moved his hand from Sam's shoulder to cup his jaw line and lift his head up for eye contact.

"Okay?"

An almost imperceptible nod. "Yeah, we're okay."

Dean didn't even try to pretend he'd meant to ask anything else.

ooooooooooooooo

So for the past week Dean had been on his best behavior.

They'd been rehabbing his arm vigorously. Sam had done research in his usual fashion, surfing the internet late into the night. Calling specialists for opinions for a 'paper' he was completing for 'medical school.'

Dean had been prepping for the banshee hunt. He'd accepted he wasn't going to be going on this one. Way too soon after the whole leaving debacle to bring up hunting. But that meant someone still had to kill the thing.

Which left Sam. Who had never hunted alone. _Who should never have to._

So the least Dean could do was the research. Who knew how an Irish omen of death had arrived in faerie form, but apparently it wasn't like a reaper. It could be killed, and the death omens would stop. The killings would stop.

But most importantly, how to protect Sam if he couldn't be there to do it himself? Banshee's siren calls lead unsuspecting men to their deaths. Perhaps earplugs would work. Maybe Sam's iPod with his crappy music up full volume? Pack some gauze around it?

Or spring for some of those noise canceling headphones.

What if it was supersonic? Sam would need him for backup. He could watch from the car in case the protections didn't keep the banshee's voice from reaching Sam.

_Fuck._ No way Sam would go for that. He'd flip if Dean even mentioned it. And he was right about Dean as backup, he always ended up in the middle of a fight protecting Sam.

_That's 'cause Sam always needs protecting!_

He so had to get over this. Needed to show his brother that he trusted him, and that he wouldn't endanger himself.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sam looked over at Dean who was clearly fighting an internal battle.

"Dude, I get that you don't want me hunting alone. I know you'll worry. I'm okay with calling this one in to the roadhouse."

Sam watched Dean's face lighten, his whole body relax. After just a moment his whole body went back into hard lines.

"No. You'll be okay. I trust you to do this. Plus, we have a plan."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sam parked the Impala at the entrance into the Wildlife Reserve. As the engine slowed he went through his checklist: ankle knife, wrist knife, handgun, cell phone.

Sam slipped his headphones on and was immediately cut off from all sounds. It was unbelievably disorienting, shifting to sight instead of sound required fast glances. _Watch for attacks from behind._

He could almost hear Dean's voice in his head. _There won't be anyone watching your back._

Sam switched his cell phone to vibrate and sent out a quick text before tucking it into his front pocket.

_Heading Out – Im OK_

He knew it wouldn't settle Dean, but there was nothing else to do. Sam opened the door and headed out to the location he and Dean had scoped out earlier.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

_He's OK, he's OK. Don't flip out. Sam's OK._

Dean started with pushups. Might as well strengthen his arm as he distracted himself. Thirty seven, thirty eight, wonder if Sam had reached the summit of the hill, forty one, forty two, did he remember his headphones, forty five, fuck, what about…

_Sam was OK. Would be OK._

Dean moved on to sit-ups and leg lifts, finished up his arm strengthening exercises and looked at his watch. Crap, it had only been thirty minutes. No way he could make it through this. He reached over to his cell phone and flipped to text messaging, typed in Sam's number before stopping himself.

No, he trusted Sam. Plus, probably better not to distract him.

Dean moved on to blocking repetitions that he and Sam had been practicing since their childhood. Upper blocks, chest blocks, groin blocks, what if Sam needed him. _Fuck_. He moved on to punches: chest punches, face punches, stomach punches, okay Sam really might be in trouble now.

Dean reached over for his cell again and startled as it rang as his hand closed over it. New text – _Im at the summit – OK._

Sam was okay, he was following the plan. He'd draw out the banshee, kill it, no reason to worry. No need to worry just 'cause his baby brother was out fighting an Irish faerie that could kill him with her voice. No, that wasn't a problem at all.

_Crap._ Dean opened Sam's laptop, blasted AC/DC, started sharpening his knives, restringing his bow, cleaning his guns methodically.

Dean stood up, grabbed his cell, handgun and knife. Fuck Sam if he didn't want the help. It certainly wasn't helping him to go crazy in this dingy motel room.

Dean opened the door and stepped through as another text came in.

_Go back to the motel. Done here. Back in forty._

Dean cracked a smirk, let in a deep breath for the first time since Sam had left. Dean had never doubted that he could clock Sam's movements better than any timepiece. He knew his brother better than he knew anything else in the world, the Impala, his father, even hunting. But it still got him when he realized how well Sam knew him. He was hard to get to, he knew he never opened up. Wasn't into the sharing thing. Never seemed to matter though, his brother always knew what he needed, who he was. Usually better than he did.

Dean settled back into the room, rested against the headboard on his bed, waited for his brother.

**Epilogue**

It was Dean's first hunt back, Sam had insisted they continue resting his arm until he was at almost full strength. Dean hadn't resisted, they'd visited Bobby, then started some research and taken a long road trip out to Montana for their first hunt together in three months. It should be a simple salt and burn. A pissed off criminal who was haunting the town's police force.

Here he was, finally, ankle deep in mud, taking turns with his brother digging the grave in the middle of a thunderstorm, watching Sam's back. Cold and miserable. Thank God he was here.

Sam looked up from the hole in the ground, noticed Dean's grin and responded in kind. The smile stayed on his face as he dipped his head back down to finish the job.


End file.
